


The Gift Was Ours

by GreenFoliage



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ? Betrayal, A little angst..., F/M, Hurt, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenFoliage/pseuds/GreenFoliage
Summary: First fic on AO3! Lets see where this one takes us, shall we? :)In order to secure Skaikru's status as the 13th clan in the Grounder Alliance, Clarke complies with Roan's demands despite Bellamy's opposition to the proposal. Months pass. Clarke finds her link to Azgeda growing as her connection to her own people begins to fade.Compromises lead to consequences and expectations lead to heartache. Ultimately a Bellamy/Clarke fan fiction, but as we know these two stubborn, self-sacrificing souls will have to go through a lot before they get there.It's off cannon, obviously---but sort of, not really, loosely following some of the TV show's story arcs (until it goes completely rogue)Comments and ideas are welcome. I'm sort of playing a game of "What if..." with myself as I write this, so only a few key plots that I want to retain. The other details are a bit hazy/fair game right now.The title comes from the song: What I Did For LoveFrom the musical: A Chorus Line.Music by Marvin Hamlisch and Lyrics by Edward Kleban.





	1. Discord

“Let me guess, you’re going on a hunting trip?” Octavia drawled as she watched her brother hurriedly pull supplies out of his duffel bag and replace them with fresh ones.

Bellamy was momentarily startled at her voice, but recovered quickly to glance up and give her a curt nod. “I spotted deer tracks on the way home from the Ouskejon Kru settlement.”

Octavia smirked, “You just got back and now you’re leaving---Again,” she observed.

He shrugged, “Can’t miss an opportunity to hunt down some venison.”

“Obviously not, if you can't even spare a night at home to rest in between trips."

"I don't wanna loose the trail, O."

"The timing's _so_ inconvenient,” she remarked impishly, "You'll miss the retinue from Azgeda. I know how much you wanted to be here when they arrived. It's too bad they couldn't give us an exact date of arrival in advance. You could have timed your trips better." 

If Bellamy noticed her tone, he chose to ignore it, “Winter’s right around the corner. Dried meat will help with protein. It's a priority. The younger kids will need it.”

As usual he wouldn't take the bait, and Octavia was growing increasingly tired of the game he insisted they keep playing. She sighed in frustration, “That’s not what I meant.”

Bellamy grunted, snatched his bag and headed for the exit. Octavia blocked his way raising her brow in defiance when he looked up.

“You know you’re being childish about this, right?" 

“Well you’re being a pain in the ass. Get out of my way,” he ordered.

And even though she didn’t have to, because she could hold her own in a glaring contest against her brother, she moved out of his way, theatrically gesturing him toward the path she had cleared. ---mostly because she knew it would irk him more.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

She couldn’t leave it at that. Not when he was being such a blatant idiot, “Once they've left, you mean."

"Octavia," Bellamy said, the warning evident in his voice.

"You’re always the first person she asks about,” Octavia continued, “and the last person she mentions before she leaves. Every time."

It took everything for Bellamy to keep from lashing out in anger. At Octavia. At the world. He took a deep breath. In. Out. Calm. Steady. Pragmatic. There was nothing he could do about it now. He'd made his feelings infinitely clear. She'd ignored his protests and as always, she did what she thought she had to do. It didn't matter that her choice was wrong. The choice was made. 

But Octavia wasn't satisfied. She knew him too well---knew just how to taunt him when his feelings were on the cusp of being exposed.

“Are you punishing her? Or are you punishing you?” she jabbed. "I've always been a bit hazy on the specifics."

Damn it Octavia.

“If you stayed for once instead of coming up with some bullshit excuse to leave every time she came to visit, you could see how she was for yourself. She's fine Bell, but I don't think she's happy. Not really.”

He began to walk away. 

“Bellamy, wait.”

He paused without thinking, unable to keep numb at the sound of her entreaty. He turned around to look at her expectantly.

“Just…I hear the woods are full of predators this time of year. Probably because of the stupid two headed deer running around. You’d think the two brains would make them smarter. Clearly not. Don’t get killed by a three armed bear or a cougar that runs on its hind feet, or some carnivorous lake serpent okay?”

He scoffed, but gave her a look of such fondness that any bitterness he may have wanted to convey melted away.

“I’m hard to kill.”

“Promise you’ll stay safe anyway. And Miller too,” she added. Because even Bellamy wasn’t stupid enough to go on a solo hunting expedition, and his right hand man was likely slated to go along.

“We’ll sleep in the rover and camp near the bunkers we have mapped out. That way if anything unexpected happens we can stay underground until the danger passes.”

Octavia was satisfied with his plan. “Well in that case, bring me back something nice,”

“Glow in the dark flowers?” 

She nodded and smiled, “The kind I can mash up and use as poison to tip my arrows.”

Bellamy grinned and shook his head before continuing down the dimly lit hall.

 

*** 

 

They stayed for three days and traded: cheese for bullets and pelts for kerosene; knowledge of surviving the ground for knowledge of the gears, levers, wires and sparks that woke metal into usefulness beyond the sharpness of a blade. But the hours of light began to wane, and the trek back to the lands of Azgeda, already treacherous in broad daylight, were made more dangerous still as darkness of the woods continued to hold its army of unconquerable monsters in its depths.

“Clarke, I told you. Yu souda ste,” he said. He sucked in a breath and held his body unnaturally still, highly attuned to possible attack---the way he prepared for any fight.

She gave a soft snort of disagreement, “Roan, don’t be ridiculous. I’m _not_ staying. Ai beda golong yu op. We can borrow a rover. I’m sure Kane won’t mind.”

“And who’s gonna drive it?”

“I…” she ran her teeth over her lower lip thoughtfully. Hastily she pushed her first thought away. There was no use in considering it, circumstances being the way they were; but as an alternative, maybe Monty could…

“It’s not just that,” Roan began quickly before she could respond with her inevitable solution. He cleared his throat and touched Clarke’s belly. He’d been doing that more and more---putting his hand flat against her growing bump and narrowing his eyes in concern as the baby kicked against him. “Osir yongon ste get ai daun,” he said softly, whispering his weakness so that only she could hear it. While a man could readily admit fear, a king could afford no such luxury.

“Nou get yu daun,” she replied cupping his jaw in her hand tenderly. She had grown fond of him---her barbarian king. And she softened at the thought that he could care deeply as well. “You have to stop worrying so much. Disha yongon laik…”she paused, struggling for the word, “…disha yongon laik…”

“ _Osir_ yongon,” he corrected gruffly, “ _Our_ child. Not disha yongon, _the_ child.” 

“ _Osir_ yongon,” she agreed, “laik…is…klir. Our child is fine.”

“Then _yu_ souda ste klir.”

“I _am_ safe. We _both_ are. I promise.”

Not to be swayed, his tone held a note of finality, “You’re safe because you’re here. And you _will_ stay here. Skaikru has the technology and the tools and the proper medicines for when the time comes. I’ll send a team to take you and our child home once Abby says its safe.”

Clarke huffed, “I told you, I'm not staying at Arkadia Roan," she said again with more force. "Why would you bring me here if you thought it was too dangerous for me to travel back with you?” Her eyes widened in realization. “You planned this---didn’t you?” She grabbed his arm, attempting to force him to look at her.

Roan shook his head and moved away, shoving off her grasp on his arm in exasperation, “The retinue and I are leaving before we lose more daylight.”

“Roan!”

He walked away using deliberately long strides, knowing it would take her some effort to keep up with him.

“Hod yu op!” she ordered fiercely between breaths.

Roan saw a figure approach, and he almost sighed in relief as he reached her. “Abby,” he called, “Maybe you can talk some sense into your daughter.”

Abby looked back and forth between Roan and the slightly-out-of-breath, but very much furious Clarke.

“Roan wants to go back to Azgeda with the entourage and leave me here until I have the baby,” Clarke fumed.

“Our baby,” Roan corrected.

Clarke’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“That seems reasonable,” Abby began calmly, “We have the tools to perform a cesarean section. We have anesthesia, fluids, blood in case of hemorrhage…”

Clarke glared at her mother. “You're in on this, aren't you? You want me to deliver my baby in Arkadia.”

“A woman can go back to her clan lands for childbirth. It’s not unheard of,” Roan offered.

“In order to secure a smooth and legitimate succession the child must be born in the lands they claim to rule,” Clarke spat. “A _woman_ may go back to her clan lands for childbirth, but that is something a _queen_ would _never_ do.”

She shook her head bitterly, “How can you even think of doing this? I thought you and I had---I started to think that---”

“It’s safer,” Roan nodded with certainty, “As King of Azgeda and Commander of the 13 Clans I decree that you must stay within the lands of Skaikru until our child is born. Disobeying my decree is treason, punishable by death.”

“You bastard,” Clarke glared and raised her chin in defiance. “ _You_ wanted this,” Clarke looked disgusted. Roan knew that she meant beyond this decision. She meant _this_ \---their joining; their life together---the one he demanded Skaikru pay as a ticket to gain their way into the alliance. Her voice was thick, full of hurt, “and now you risk denying our child their birthright. Whatever happens from now on is on your head.”

"My first wife died giving birth to our child. I swear that you will not, Clarke, Kwin kom Azgeda."


	2. Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy talking to each other and avoiding the elephant in the room for about 2k words---until I realized probably something should happen ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments so far!
> 
> Hope you're enjoying the ride as much as I am!

Bellamy burst into the med bay. “Hey Abby, do you have a sec? I tried to get most of the dirt out but…” he trailed off when he realized the person sitting on the steel slab they used as an exam table, watching him, quietly cautious, was the very person he’d been successfully avoiding over the last three months.

She shuffled slowly off the table and stood up. “She’s with Raven. They’re trying out a few strengthening exercises for her leg.”

“Clarke,” he greeted gruffly, his voice cracking. She seemed---fine? Tired? And pregnant. Of course she would be. He could count as well as anyone else. Six months, four days and eight hours---give or take an hour. He grimaced at the thought and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you’d still be here.”

“You were out hunting,” 

“Yeah.” 

Clarke took in a breath, “You do that a lot,” she observed. There was a tinge of accusation in her voice, but Bellamy pretended not to notice. Instead, he nodded. 

She tried to read his expression, but he kept it skillfully undecipherable. She pursed her lips in frustration but couldn’t seem to find words to address the breech that had so clearly formed between the two of them. She put a hand to her belly and rubbed it habitually. Really, the situation being what it was, what _could_ she say? 

“They’re getting harder and harder to track with all the other predators out there, but Miller and I managed to catch a deer.” 

“That’s good,” Clarke remarked, smiling. “Preserved meat will help keep protein in the diet over the winter. You’re planning ahead.” Unconsciously Clarke began to nod in approval, “and the pelt will be helpful for warmth. I wonder what sort of tools we could make with the bones…” 

She was lost in her thoughts---sorting out the multiple lists and plans she carefully stored in her mind by saying them aloud. As she spoke, she paced, frowning slightly, brows narrowing in concentration.

A ghost of a smile rested on Bellamy’s lips at the sight of her so serious. Just like old times.

“…and the viscera. But that would need to be cleaned well. Maybe with some moonshine we could…” Clarke caught Bellamy staring. Her thoughts trailed off and she began to recollect herself.

He looked a little thinner, his cheeks slightly gaunt. He was probably living on half rations again. She’d warned him against it. Why didn’t he ever listen? There were bags under his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well, probably taking it upon himself to take both the first watch as well as the early morning third watch. Upon closer observation she noticed that his pack was slung over his left side. He winced a little when he shifted its weight.

"What could we do with the moonshine?" he asked, urging her continue. He took pleasure in knowing that she still spoke about them like they were her people---like her loyalties weren't forever divided.

“Nevermind, just..." she paused thoughtfully, "You said you got most of the dirt out. What did you mean?

“Oh," Bellamy blinked. He had almost forgotten what had brought him into the med bay in the first place. "Right. It’s uh…It’s nothing---“ he replied sheepishly.

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have come to my mom for help,” she reasoned.

He tried for a nonchalant shrug, then grimaced at the movement.

“Your shoulder,” she muttered, “Come here and sit down.”

With a deep sigh he did as he was told. He tried to pry his jacket off on his own, but let out a pained grunt.

“Let me help you,” Clarke said softly. He nodded his head in assent. She helped him with his left arm, and then his right.

“Argh, dammit,” he hissed.

He felt her breath on his neck as she inspected the claw marks on his skin, and he closed his eyes at the sensation. As gently as possible, she touched the skin around his torn flesh. It was warm and red, but with no obvious signs of raging infection. She shifted her body to the side and faced him. “What did this?” 

“An eagle,” he replied. 

“What?” Clarke demanded, horrified. “You’re kidding,”

“No. It was a _huge_ eagle. At first it was going after the deer, but I guess it thought I was an easier target. Before he could do any real damage, Miller shot him in the head,” he couldn’t help but grin, “You think eagle meat tastes like chicken?” 

“You think this is funny?” 

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes twinkling, “It’s a little funny.”

She narrowed her eyes in disgust at his reaction to his injury. “Your shirt’s wrecked,” she remarked crossly.

“I can sew it back up,” he replied reasonably.

“Then take it off before more blood soaks into it,” she ordered.

He shifted and began to lift it up over his head grunting all the while.

"You're impossible," she huffed, swiftly yanking it off, exposing his chest to the chilly air. He sucked in a breath partly due to the sudden cold, partly due to the pain, and partly due to her proximity to him. He’d missed it. Craved it more than he cared to admit.

Clarke flushed slightly when she looked at his torso beyond the scratches on his shoulder. Her eyes widened when she realized he wasn't as thin as she had first thought. His muscles were well defined and strong. She gnawed at her lower lip and forced herself to concentrate. She needed an antimicrobial solution to irrigate the wounds. "It doesn't need stitches but..." she trailed off and moved away from him towards the vials of antiseptics and ointments.

At the loss of contact, it was all he could do to keep from reaching out a hand to grasp her arm to keep her beside him. He rolled his eyes at himself.

"There!" Clarke smiled triumphantly holding up a vial.

Bellamy looked at it suspiciously. "What are you going to---Arrgghhh!" He cried out as she poured the liquid on the gashes.

"Damn it!" he cried angrily, moving his shoulder away from her protectively. "You could have counted to ten or something!"

"It wouldn't have been pleasant either way," she rationalized.

"A little head's up would have been nice. Sometimes you just need to give a person a second to get used to an idea," he replied.

"Even if it's a good one?" she asked cautiously. She wanted to steer the conversation away from the superficial. It wasn't what they did, Bellamy and her. They spoke of substance: of planning; of pain. She wanted to address it because it was important that they heard each other's side despite the fact that she was under no illusions that either of them would give in to the other's perspective.

"Your version of a good idea and mine aren't always the same," he said gruffly turning his face away from hers. He stood up from the table as if to leave.

"Bellamy, wait," she sighed resignedly.

He immediately stopped at the sound of her voice.

"Our ideas always end up the same when we have to make impossible decisions to save our people," she persisted.

He stood directly in front of her, pointedly looking at the child she carried. "At what cost?"

"At any cost," said said quietly but fiercely. "I would bear anything so they don't have to."

And that was the crux of the matter. She did bear it, and there it was inside of her. The cost was too high. Bellamy looked up at her smiling sadly. "See? Our ideas? Not the same."

Now it was Clarke who turned away. She couldn't understand the sudden onslaught of guilt she felt looking into his eyes, especially since she had rationalized all of her decisions so easily six months ago.

"Clarke?"

"Your shoulder will be fine," she gave him a false smile, trying for some levity, "You're lucky Miller's such a good shot. If the claws had gone any deeper we'd be stitching more than just your shirt."

"Where's your husband?" Bellamy blurted in spite of himself.

Clarke blinked. It was odd to hear. Roan was the King of Azgeda, and she was the Queen. She supposed it would reason to follow that he was her husband. He _was_ her husband. The hand-clasping ceremony _had_ happened. And...and everything else that had happened after. The child she was carrying was his.

Still. It was odd to hear coming from Bellamy's mouth. She didn't like the uneasy way it made her feel---or the confusing mixture of hurt and anger that she saw in his eyes as he said it.

"It's a ten day journey back to the Azgeda capital of Sque-Is from here. He left five hours ago."

"He left you?" he asked, dumbfounded at the thought that anyone would leave Clarke behind.

Clarke nodded. "He said it would be safer---that he wanted me safe for the birth of the baby."

Bellamy swallowed thickly at the thought of her delivering a child. "You believe him?"

She snickered softly.

"He has a point you know. We have the supplies, equipment, expertise..." he trailed off, "You think something else is going on?"

Clarke sucked in a heavy breath, her eyes narrowing. Finally, a chance to say what she had been thinking for the past five hours to the one person she knew would believe her. "Anyone you know in Arkadia help deliver a baby on the ground?"

"No, but..."

"Help birth a child that might be a nightblood?"

"No," Bellamy answered shortly needing her to get to the point.

"Well, _they_ have. They have midwives and healers in Sque-Is. If Roan was so worried about me, why wouldn't he have brought them with us? Insist that they stay with me?"

"So what do you think he's hiding?"

"That's what I need you to help me find out."


	3. Mistrust

Bellamy shook his head in amusement as he saw about 10 children between the ages of six to thirteen walk through the gates of Arcadia in a neat, organized line, carrying baskets heaping full of dark green moss. Monty, who had led the march looking suitably serious and important, now broke the ranks and walked up to each child inspecting the baskets one by one. Murphy held up the rear, armed with a rifle looking distinctly bored.

“Do I even wanna know what’s going on?” Bellamy chuckled. He walked toward the group with a bemused grin.

“Princess says jump, we ask how high,” Murphy replied self-depreciatingly.

“Princess says get me some moss?” Bellamy prompted.

Murphy shrugged, “We ask how much.”

“A lot, apparently,” Bellamy remarked.

“It’s a good insulator,” Monty replied, having deemed their venture into the woods a success, “We’re using it to stuff blankets for now, but once we start building cabins we can think about using it between boards, waterproofing roofs---”

Bellamy nodded, “Sounds useful. We should get the kids to collect some more tomorrow if the weather holds up.”

“As much as we can,” Monty agreed. “Did you know that Azgeda use it for wound dressings? Not as good as our bandages, but when those run out…”

“You’ve been chatting with the Azgeda delegates then,” Bellamy concluded.

“They’re here with the Princess every month,” Murphy pointed out, “hard to avoid them.”

“Technically she’s their queen,” Monty piped in helpfully, “and we’re learning a lot from them,” Monty continued, “Did you know that white birch bark is edible? So if worse comes to worse then---”

“That’s great Monty. Keep learning as much as you can. It’s what’ll get us through the winter,” Bellamy interrupted, “I’m actually looking for Clarke. Do either of you know where she is?”

“Last I saw, she was on the radio, threatening mutiny,” Monty replied.

Bellamy arched his brow in question.

“She’s pissed that the Azgeda left her here---thinks they’re backing out of the negotiations by robbing her kid out of its birthright.”

“Do you think Azgeda’s going back out of the treaty?” Bellamy asked.

Murphy scoffed, “You ask me, I just think Roan got more than he bargained for in our Princess; needed a little time-out. I’m sure the Princess could use one too.”

“But he’ll be back for her,” Monty added.

“Yeah,” Murphy agreed.

“What makes you so sure?” Bellamy questioned.

Monty and Murphy looked at each other and then at Bellamy, confused that he even needed to ask.

“Because it’s Clarke,” Monty replied with simply, as though that were the only possible answer Bellamy would need.

Murphy shrugged in agreement, “It’s Clarke.”

Bellamy shook his head and sucked in a frustrated breath, “This alliance,” he spat, “We all know it’s a joke.”

“It’s been mutually beneficial so far,” Monty pointed out reasonably.

“The Azgeda are warriors. They want to conquer, not negotiate. They want a stronghold in the south. Arkadia’s it, and Clarke in her usual stubborn, pigheaded, impulsive style, gave them the key.”

“They wouldn’t---” Monty began.

“Wouldn’t they?” Murphy cut him off. He turned to Bellamy with an arched brow, “You’re riled up for nothing. There’s no fight today.”

“One day soon there will be,” Bellamy predicted ominously, “And when that time comes you’re gonna have to choose which side you wanna be on.”

Murphy laughed humorlessly, “That’s not a problem for me. No brainer, I’d choose the side that’s winning. The real question is, with Clarke hovering somewhere in the middle, which side will _you_ be on?” Murphy challenged.

*******

“They’ll resist as soon as you tell them,” Clarke warned.

“Em hakom ai teik yu set raun,” Roan replied, his voice scratchy through the radio.

“That’s my point,” Clarke said with force, “You _don’t_ have me to negotiate because you _left_ me here.”

“Ai Haiplana,” he tried for a reasonable tone that even to his own ears sounded a touch patronizing. He was tired.  They’d been at this for a while---one moment discussing clan politics with detached calm, until the next moment when he would say something that unwittingly sparked Clarke’s frustration.  

“Don’t start,” Clarke replied, irritation seething through her words.

“I’m not starting anything Clarke,” he snapped, finally just as annoyed. “You _are_ my queen. Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” she replied, “Are you sure _you_ haven’t?”

“Spichen!” Roan swore, “You test my patience.”

“Well, you test mine,” she shot back.

There was a split second of pure silence, then, unexpectedly and despite the static, the sound came through loud and clear. Roan was…laughing. He was laughing!

“Yo vout in dison ste levos?!” Clarke demanded incredulously.

In response, Roan seemed to laugh louder.

Clarke’s mouth was agape in disbelief, “You actually think this is funny?”

She heard him suck in a deep, calming breath. His voice sounded bemused and resigned, “I laugh because I thought having you as my queen would make my reign easier. My kingdom is in order because of your tactical, lightning-fast mind, but my life is far from peaceful, ai Haiplana.”

“Well my new life hasn’t been particularly smooth either,” she muttered back, “but to be fair, neither was my old one,” she added begrudgingly.

“We were born under the same moon Clarke,”

“So you keep saying,” she murmured back, not quite sure of what to make of the phrase. She sighed resignedly knowing that she was making no headway. She placed a hand on her belly and closed her eyes. “The baby’s kicking,” she informed him.

“Our baby is strong,” he said with approval, “like you.”

“Strong enough to travel to Azgeda territory,” Clarke slipped in because she couldn’t help herself, “But I’m tired of arguing about it,” she added quickly. She tried for a different tactic. “Tell me again where you are,”

“A detour,” Roan offered, as a way of thanks for not being forced back into a stalemated argument, “in the lands of the Plains Riders,”

“Why?”

“Why do we ever steer from our territory? To trade.”

“Not to fight?” Clarke clarified.

“Not today,” Roan replied.

“The radios will be out of range soon if you keep heading west,” Clarke paused, “Do you plan to keep heading west?”

“I told you, the plans are uncertain,”

“You know I don’t believe you,” Clarke said softly, “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Why you really left me here?”

Roan was silent.

“Are you safe?”

“Yes,”

“When will you be back?”

Silence.

“When can I go back to Azgeda lands?”

“When either myself or one of our commanders returns and is able to lead the convoy home with you and our child.”

Clarke sighed, “Why don’t I just wait for you to return?”

Silence.

“You’re safe now, but you’re going somewhere that isn’t. Is that true?”

Silence.

“I’ll ask Raven to see what she can do about extending the range on the radios. Just---just don’t get yourself killed. Our baby needs its father. Azgeda needs its king.”

“Clarke,” Roan blurted suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Ai hod yu in.”

“What?” Clarke replied, surprised. She gave a soft uncomfortable chuckle, “Roan, I---“

“I need to go. The radios will still reach tomorrow. I’ll radio again, same time. Goodbye.”

And the line went dead.

“Roan?” Clarke tried, “Roan, are you still there?”

“He’s gone,” Bellamy replied, his voice gravelly.

Clarke swallowed and coughed to clear her throat. She turned around to face the two companions that had been sitting in the room with her for most of the conversation. “Do you think you can do something about the range?” she asked.

Raven nodded, “I can make a few tweaks. When he calls again tomorrow, let him know I’m here. I’ll tell him how to modify his device.”

“His location?”

“39.7392 degrees north, 104.9903 degrees west. We wasn’t lying about the Plains Riders lands, but he’s going even further west.”

“What do we know about what’s going on further west?”

“Not a hell of a lot,” Bellamy replied, frustration in his voice. “What’s the plan?”

“To stay still for now. I’m not convinced Kane and my mother are ignorant of all of this. Raven, you see my mom a lot during your treatment sessions. Think you can steer the conversation in that general direction?”

“On it,” Raven replied, hitching herself up from her chair and rising to leave, “I’m about to head to one now. I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”

Clarke nodded, “Thanks.”

As Raven left, Clarke shot Bellamy a shared look full of skepticism, “she won’t learn anything. My mom’s been hanging around Kane a lot. His politicking is starting to rub off on her.”

“What are you thinking?”

“The promise of more ammo for guns? Another Mount Weather? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“He doesn’t tell you much.”

“No.”

“But what he does say---”

“Bellamy---”

“Just be careful. Don’t let him fool you into thinking the alliance is something that it isn’t.”

“I know what the alliance means. You don’t need to remind me,” she replied determinedly, “I know what I need to do.”

But her hand on her belly rubbing in slow circles was what belied her words, and Bellamy wasn’t fooled.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse me as I (with much remorse) butcher Trigedasleng. I think I've made it quite obvious what they're saying because it's interspersed with English translations more or less within the dialogue. Let's pretend it's because Clarke is just starting to make the effort to learn to speak the language fluently. Sometimes she messes it up a bit. "A" for effort Clarke ;)
> 
> I got my Trigedasleng reference from here: http://m-rphy.tumblr.com/post/112135702265  
> And obviously Trigedasleng was invented by the crazy talented in all things related to language: David Peterson


End file.
